The Life and Times of Daryl Dixon
by harronhermy
Summary: Almost everyone had a normal life before the Fall. A life without walkers. A life without endless death. A quiet life, where some of the biggest worries were paying the bills on time. This is a look at what Daryl Dixon's life was before the dead started coming back to life. /A short series of five one-shots. Rated T.
1. Chapter One: Hunting

**June 3rd, 1990**

Daryl moved slowly through the woods, bow in hand. He _had_ to bring something home tonight unless he wanted to be punished. His daddy had threatened him within an inch of his life before he'd been sent off into the woods that morning.

_"If you don't bring nothin' back, I'll skin your sorry hide!" _He'd said, pushing Daryl roughly out the front door. And when his daddy said things like that, he meant them.

Daryl had been tracking the same deer for close to two hours now. He cursed to himself, frustrated.

He was tired and thirsty, but neither of those things were as excruciating as the panes of hunger in his belly. He'd lost count of how many days he'd gone without eating, but if he were to guess, it'd been at least four or five. But to a growing 13 year old boy, those few days felt like weeks.

Merle was in the county jail for a bar brawl, and their daddy was too busy drinking and gambling to bring anything home – so it was up to Daryl to bring some game home for their supper.

He couldn't help thinking that if Merle were with him, he might have shot something by now – not that Merle was much help.

Daryl sighed and bent down to examine some fresh deer tracks in the slowly drying mud of what used to be a creek bank.

_Stupid drought_, Daryl thought to himself.

A twig snapped somewhere to his left and he whipped around, his bow ready to fire.

There she was. A big ole doe, less than 15 feet away from him.

He had one shot. If he missed now, he'd spook her away – and if he did that, not only would he go hungry for another day, but he'd get the shit beat out of him.

Daryl let out a quiet breath as he aimed for the deer's head.

She was dead before she hit the ground.

He smirked in triumph and ran noisily over to start dragging her out of the woods.

They were gonna eat good tonight.


	2. Chapter Two: Liar

**April 19****th****, 1992**

"Merle! Get your ass in here!"

Daryl jumped awake at the sudden sound of his father's voice from the living room.

He turned his head sleepily to the other side of the tiny bedroom, looking for his brother. But he wasn't there.

"What?" Merle asked a few moments later.

"Have you been stealin' my cigarettes, boy!?" their father roared, obviously in a drunken rage.

"No!" Merle retorted immediately, and Daryl knew he was lying. Lying just like he always did.

"Don't you lie to me!" his daddy yelled. He heard a thump and the sound of glass shattering.

"I didn't take nothin'! Get off me!" Merle argued.

Daryl wondered what they'd broken. He hoped it wasn't the fish tank.

"Don't sass me, boy! I'll skin your hide!" their dad argued, his words slightly slurred.

Another thump was heard from the living room.

"How do you know Daryl didn't take 'em!?" Merle asked.

Daryl froze, his eyes wide. Merle was going to blame _him_ for the missing cigarettes? He gulped and his heart began to race. If their daddy believed Merle, Daryl knew he was in for a world of hurt.

"You gon' keep blamin' your little brother for shit he didn't do? Or are you gon' 'fess up for what _you_ did?"

Daryl's heart rate slowed and he breathed a shaky sigh of relief. Maybe his father was finally seeing some sense.

"I seen him do it!" Merle shouted in his defense, "Saw him go outside to smoke 'em right after! I swear!"

Daryl's blood ran cold. That son of a bitch.

"Daryl Dixon! Get your ass in here!"

A loud bang on the door made him jump.

"NOW!"

Daryl dragged himself out of bed.

He'd get Merle back for this.


	3. Chapter Three: Worth It

**October 15th, 1994**

Daryl had to keep himself from bursting out laughing as Earl Byrd and his small gang of friends came into the hallway where he sat slumped against his locker.

Earl sure was in for a surprise.

Daryl and his buddy Ralph had broken the lock on the roof hatch (with hardly any difficulty) and snuck into the school with a big cardboard box full of deer intestines.

They shoved them in Earl's locker last Friday night.

Today was Monday.

"That'll teach him to steal off us, won't it?" Ralph snickered, poking Daryl in the ribs with his elbow.

"I sure hope so. Otherwise he's dumb as hell." Daryl smirked, keeping an eye on Earl and playing a game of cards with Ralph at the same time.

"Why didn't you just beat the shit outta him like last time?" Ralph asked, drawing a few cards from the pile in the middle of the two boys.

" 'Cause obviously he didn't learn nothin' when I did." Daryl said, laying down an ace. "And besides, the cop that got me last time says that if I fight again I go to jail."

"Oh yeah, I forgot." Ralph pondered. He scratched his head for a moment and laid down another card.

"Ha!" Daryl snorted, laying down another ace. "I win!"

"Damn you, Daryl!" Ralph growled, throwing down his cards.

"You owe me a dollar." Daryl taunted.

"I don't owe you shit." Ralph laughed, punching Daryl in the arm.

"A cigarette, then?" Daryl suggested.

"Yeah, yeah, all right." his friend promised, pulling the pack out of his jacket pocket.

A girlish shriek pulled their attention away from the cigarette pack.

There stood Earl, his face and front covered in near-rotten deer entrails, madder than a wet hen.

Daryl clutched his sides as he laughed. He thought he was going to piss himself.

"DIXON!" he roared, brushing the stinking meat and blood from his shirt.

Daryl and Ralph smirked to one another. Whatever punishment they got for this would be worth it.

/

_Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who has reviewed and followed this story!_

_Just a note: "madder than a wet hen" is a phrase that is used to describe a person who's just beyond angry. Trust me, pour water on a chicken and she's not going to be happy, lol. You may even lose a finger. Just saying. :P_

_If I get enough requests, I'll also do a series of little one-shots for another Walking Dead character! Leave a review and let me know who you'd want me to write about! -**harronhermy**_


	4. Chapter Four: Happy Birthday!

** September 18th, 1996**

Daryl laughed loudly as he turned the wheel of his old pick-up truck and swerved all over the road. The two of his buddies that sat in the bed of the truck toppled over on top of one another, cursing Daryl as he continued to drive at a high speed down the tiny country road.

"Did you hear 'em scream?" Daryl's best friend Ralph asked, howling with laughter over the roar of the engine.

"Like a bunch of little girls!" Daryl yelled back at his friends through the open windows.

"Ah, shut the hell up Dixon! You would too!" one of them shouted back.

"Oh, turn here, turn here!" Ralph ordered, pointing excitedly to the left side of the road.

"Why? I thought we were gonna go get drunk?" Daryl said, confused at why his best friend wanted him to turn into a neighborhood.

"Just trust me, we got somethin' planned." Ralph said to Daryl, and then he turned his head and called: "Ain't that right, boys!?" to their friends in the back.

"Hell yeah!" and "You know it, brother!" were their replies, which made Daryl wonder a little bit. Surely they wouldn't prank him on his 18th birthday.

Daryl pulled into the neighborhood and shut the truck off, just as Ralph instructed him to. And then all four boys hopped out of the truck and gathered at the front of it.

"What's that bag of stuff for?" Daryl asked, confused.

"Pick a house, any house." Ralph advertised, waving his arm toward the two rows of seven houses.

Daryl smirked and took the bag, which was just as he thought – filled with rotten eggs from Ralph's grandma's hen house, toilet paper, and silly string.

And that was the night that Daryl and his friends got hit by an old lady with a cane.


End file.
